


Being boring

by sweariwouldnt



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: A Bit of Fluff, Canon, Current era, Domestic Boyfriends, Established Relationship, M/M, Rainbow Flags, a bit of angst, and sad feelings, non-au, quite a lot of fluff actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 23:15:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12376146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweariwouldnt/pseuds/sweariwouldnt
Summary: Louis watches the sea of rainbow flags rise up in the audience at Harry's gig.Harry hums Just Like You.They care about each other even when they're boring.





	Being boring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dimpled_halo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimpled_halo/gifts).



> As so many times before, this fic stems from how much I love both of these two. And this time, especially how much I love Louis and his new wonderful song - music is such an inspiration to me. 
> 
> Please stream [Just Like You](https://open.spotify.com/track/5IF6IBPqbclVR7SQKmCIyA)!

“That was nice,” Louis offers nonchalantly, trying to suppress his smile – if he didn’t, it might crack his mouth open with how wide it’d be. He takes a sip from his beer and holds his hand up, waiting for Harry to high five him.

“Nice?” Harry chuckles hoarsely as he high fives Louis’ expectant hand. His palm is sweaty, clammy, a strange mix of soft from the moist and hard from strumming his guitar for the past over an hour. “You can’t fool me. I can see your eyes are red.”

“It’s because I’m high?” Louis offers cheekily.

“It’s because you’ve been weeping, you soft fool,” Harry tells him. “No reason to play hard to get with me. I’m what the kids call easy. A sure thing.” Harry takes Louis’ beer bottle and takes a big gulp, then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Eww,” Louis feigns offense. “Keep your germs, Styles. We don’t need to share _everything_ , you know.”

Harry laughs, and it’s only now that Louis notices Harry’s holding one of the little rainbow flags on his hand. “I do want to share _this_ with you,” Harry says softly as he brushes Louis’ hair, placing the colourful little flag behind Louis’ ear.

Harry observes him for a bit, making sure the flag is securely placed, and then looks at Louis in the eyes. It feels as if the post-gig buzz, the rowdy noises and shouts and equipment clacking and clicking on the busy backstage space all vanish – for a brief moment, it’s all quiet, it’s just Harry looking at Louis, Louis feeling the hard stick of the rainbow flag pressing behind his ear as if it’s an actual anchor; the weight and the hardness not uncomfortable, but comforting.

There’s no need to say anything, they both know how they felt – how the other felt – at seeing the sea of tiny rainbow flags rising up, filling the room, filling hearts and some sort of void in the universe, making everyone feel tighter knit together.  

Louis’s seen fans talk about it feeling like a safe space, but it feels so safe for him and Harry, too. There’s no need to say anything, but Louis tells Harry he’s so proud of him anyway. He doesn’t take the flag off until they’re in their New York home, when he carefully places it on a vase on their hallway table. The colours look even brighter now,  amongst the fresh sunflowers.

\---

“Fucking love this,” Harry sighs, satisfied, as he throws himself back, feeling his head hit the soft pillow. He squirms around a bit, wiggling his toes and tickling Louis’ hip. “It’s like… There’s not many things that feel better than clean bedsheets. I love clean sheets.”

Louis snickers. “So, you mean you like… coming clean?”

Harry laughs and swats Louis’ bum, causing him to yelp.

Louis doesn’t back down, though. “Funny, I always thought you preferred coming a bit more… dirty.”

“Pure filth, you are,” Harry observes dryly. “Can’t believe I let you kiss me with that filthy mouth of yours.”  

“Oh please,” Louis snorts. “That’s a bit rich, coming from you. Your mouth is definitely as filthy as mine. If not more.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry turns to place his palms flat on Louis’ chest, propping his jaw on them. “And what’s your favourite thing that my filthy mouth does?”

Louis doesn’t reply immediately; he takes his time, running his hands down Harry’s warm back, tickling the dimples on the bottom of his spine, then leaving his hands to rest on Harry’s bum cheeks. “I think it’s, really, the things you say.”

Harry raises his eyebrow, suggestively. “When I say like… dirty stuff?”

Louis shakes his head. “No, not that.” He sees Harry’s forehead scrunch, creating a little wrinkle between his eyes. It’s weird how Harry sometimes still seems to completely not understand how deviously sexy he is, how much Louis honestly fucking _fancies_ him, still – Harry sometimes gets weirdly insecure and looks like a lost puppy, who’s first been kicked and then told he has not one desireable bone in his body.

“I mean, I obviously love when you talk dirty, or how your mouth feels, on any part of my body…”

Harry beams involuntarily. Sure, he gets insecure occasionally but luckily he’s also incredibly prone and trusting to any praise Louis showers him with.

“…But I think my very,” kiss, “absolutely,” kiss, “favourite thing your mouth does,” a longer kiss, “is telling me you love me.”

“I love you,” Harry smiles testingly, as if he’s never done that before. As if he hasn’t told that to Louis at least once a day, for many years.

“Hmm,” Louis smiles, “yeah, nothing can beat that. I love you. And your mouth. No matter what it does.”

Harry proceeds to show a few more things his mouth can do. Louis really loves them all.

\---

“Hey I know that tune,” Louis croaks sleepily as he walks into the open kitchen space the following morning.

Harry’s humming, wiggling his bum more tamely than his usual dancing, holding a white coffee cup with a bit black L letter. Somehow they seem to have this and the matching H-letter cup in every single one of their kitchens.

“You do?” Harry takes a sip of his coffee, cheekily looking at Louis as Louis pours himself a cup.

“Yeh,” Louis nods. “Maybe I heard it on the radio.”

“Nope, not possible. It’s not on the radio yet.” Harry makes a happy sound as he feels the caffeine hit his veins.

“It’s not? Funny, must’ve heard it somewhere else then.”

“Maybe you heard it when you sang it?” Harry suggests and hums the song some more. “It’s very catchy, this song.”

Louis grimaces, feeling unsure. He loves the song, and obviously Harry is kind of obliged to love it too – or at least say he does – but it’s the first single he’s actually putting out there himself and. It’s nerve wracking. Scary. Makes him feel vulnerable, and sort of naked, and almost certain people will misunderstand it. Or buy the official story he’ll be selling.

“Listen,” Harry takes the coffee cup from Louis’ hand and places it on the counter next to his own. He puts his hands on Louis’ cheeks, making him look at Harry. “This song is beautiful. And I’m not saying it just because it’s you. If I heard it on radio, it would… Make me stop, and listen. And feel, most of all.”

Louis closes his eyes for a second, trying to get away from Harry’s intense stare. He hates it, loves it, how Harry just seems to… Get him. It’s both an amazing relief and a scary invasion, to have someone know and understand him so well.

“Your voice sounds so raw in this, Lou. It’s like it…” Harry searches for his words for a moment. “Prickles on my skin for a moment before it just pierces it and overwhelms me with how intense and honest it is.” Harry lets out a deep breath, his eyes getting suspiciously misty. “And with the lyrics, I… I _know_ what you’re saying, and I also know what you’ll say you’re saying, and it just. Lou, everyone is going to love this. They’ll love it for their own reasons but I fucking swear everyone will love it. Okay?”

Louis takes his eyes off of Harry’s, the connection feeling like too much. He looks down, bites his lip, and concentrates on breathing for a few inhales, exhales. “Okay.”

“Good,” Harry nods as he pulls Louis to him tightly. They hold each other for what seems like seconds, or maybe hours, their chests rising and lowering together, heart beats finding a shared rhythm.

“And, also, I love it when you’re boring. When we’re boring. Be boring with me today?” Harry then says quietly.

Louis hears what he doesn’t say. _Be boring with me, let’s pretend you’re not flying away soon, let’s pretend it’s just a regular boring day and we’re boring people who never have to be anything but._

“Yeh,” Louis smiles. “I’ll be boring with you.”

They start by making breakfast together. Louis suggests they have a cook-off, both only being able to use products they find from one shelf in their cupboard. Harry agrees to it, but fucks up Louis’ grand plans by deciding _he_ takes the cereal shelf.

Eventually, their cook-off literally dries out when they realise milk and juice, and cheese too coming to think of it, are crucial ingredients for any breakfast.

“What do you wanna watch?” Harry asks as they carry their plates and cups to the sofa. “I want something easy.”

“Friends?”

Harry gives Louis a look, but then just nods and finds Friends on Netflix.

As per usual, they make it barely halfway of the episode before things that always happen when they watch Friends, happen:

  * Louis gets annoyed with how reckless and actually quite mean Phoebe is again.
  * Harry sighs and tuts at Louis, because how could anyone possibly hate Phoebe. She’s so funny and free, for crying out loud.
  * Louis tells Harry that if Phoebe’s fashion sense was less exciting in Harry’s eyes, he’d hate him too, because _can you fucking imagine having her as a house guest, Harrica?_
  * Harry then proceeds to claim he is absolutely not like Monica, because his cleaning and little house elf habits are totally not weird, and for fuck’s sake Lou, how many times will it take for you to understand the concept of using a coaster on this vintage wooden table?



Eventually, after some intense staring, they stop and agree to not watch Friends again. They both know it’ll be about a month before they try to again. Surely they must be able to watch one episode of a comedy series, if they’ve managed to stick together happily for seven years.

As always, neither of them says anything when Louis puts on an episode of South Park instead. At least they both hate Cartman.

“It’s going to rain,” Louis observes as they finish their breakfast, and start clearing the table and the kitchen.

Harry glances out through the window, looking at the grey clouds emerging from the distance. “Not for a while yet. Could go for a quick walk?”

Louis scrunches his nose. He just wants to be lazy today. “What, like a run?”

“No,” Harry chuckles, “a quick walk. A nice stroll. Or, you know, a boring stroll, to keep up with today’s programme.”

They finish tidying up the kitchen, Louis resolutely not commenting how wiping the counter less than three times would probably be just as well. They go brush their teeth and for some reason Harry has suddenly lost his sight and refuses to believe Louis when he insists that Harry’s actually wearing his joggers.

“Come _on_ , Haz,” Louis points to his ankles. “They’re obviously not supposed to look like that.”

Harry tries to look pissed off, but then his façade falters. “Let me wear your clothes, Lou,” he whispers against Louis’ lips. “I just want to wear your clothes today.”

It just makes sense for Louis to nod and put Harry’s joggers on himself.

Of course they’re in the middle of the small park close to their flat when it starts pouring. They start yelling and running, like the few other people who got caught in the downpour, until Harry stops Louis suddenly.

“When was the last time you danced in the rain?”

Louis is pretty sure it was the last time they got caught in the rain, because for some reason, Harry loves hanging out in the rain. He also loves ‘dancing’ in the rain, mainly looking like he’s an electric thing getting spasmed in the water.

“Who knows,” Louis shouts as he opens his mouth and bends his head backwards, so he can feel the raindrops on his tongue. “Now is the next time!”

They are soaked through and through when they get home. They make a quick change of clothes, again not paying much mind into which garment initially belonged to whom. Louis puts the kettle on; he can _feel_ the calming, warming tea in his mouth and mind already.

Harry’s sniffing the white sweater he’s wearing – Louis is pretty sure that’s actually his.

“I love this fabric conditioner,” Harry sighs happily. “It smells like… like a fairytale.”

Louis chuckles. “What does a fairytale smell like, then?”

“Like… Something sweet. Pink, I think. And a bit fresh, but not like… not like nature fresh, just. Fresh. You know?” Harry looks at Louis with an amused smile.

To someone who doesn’t know Harry, the _real_ Harry, it might sound like a joke; a random pretentious comment of oh-how-artistic Harry. But Louis knows Harry, knows this is just the kind of very-Harry thing his brain would think of.

Louis smells Harry’s sweater. “Yeah. I know.”

Harry beams and starts humming.

_“If I had it my way, pub lunch every Sunday_

_Cheap beer and it’s okay_

_I wanna lay where he lays_

_I wanna stay in these days”_

There’s something about the whole thing, hearing Harry sing the song Louis wrote, to the tune he came up with, to the lyrics he wrote about what he wants to do with Harry so much. It makes Louis feel a sense of belonging, or owning, or maybe a perfect balance of both.

\---

“I think we failed today,” Harry tells Louis as they’re going to bed.

“Didn’t know today had expectations for us?”

“We were supposed to be boring, Lou.”

“Ah,” Louis nods, understanding. “We did have a bit too much fun for that.”

“It’s your fault, really.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry nods. “Even the most boring stuff is fun. We did laundry today and even that was like, a good time. We’re always fun even when it’s supposed to be boring, because _you_ are fun.”

Louis feels like his insides might be on a tumble dryer. Harry still seems to find a way to say things that just make Louis feel like he’s… Well. Turned upside down.

“I’ll try to be less fun, if you want.”

“Nah,” Harry waves him off. “Carry on being fun. I like it. It’s fun.”

Louis leans to kiss his absolutely ridiculous boyfriend, who he also thinks is the most fun thing in the world. He tells Harry that.

They settle in for sleep, wiggling their toes against each other under the duvet whilst they scroll on their phones for a bit.

“Look, Lou,” Harry shows a picture on the screen to Louis. It’s a picture from his Philadelphia gig, of the several little rainbow flags held up by the fans. “I love this so much.”

Louis looks at the colours, remembers how the atmosphere in the venue had changed at that point – it had been so good, so energetic, great vibes to start with but when the tiny flags started rising, it was almost like… a spiritual experience, Louis had felt. He’d felt so happy for so many people, and for Harry, and for himself. And he’d felt so proud of Harry, standing on the stage and daring to give a little piece of his actual self to people he wished would accept and love him, but never took it for granted.

Louis leans to kiss Harry’s nose. “You’re my chaotic good.”

“A what?” Harry giggles.

“Chaotic good. You’re chaotic. And so good. You just… Do things you feel are right, as much as you can.”

Harry beams under the praise (chaotic good _would_ be a thing he’d be happy to be called).

“It’s a meme thing, I’ll show you later,” Louis offers as an explanation.

“Chaotic good,” Harry muses. “I dig it.”

“It’s very you. Actually, it’s like… the most you. That’s exactly what you are.”

Harry doesn’t say anything to that. He just leans over to put his phone away, and turns on his back to look at the ceiling. He seems to stare emptily for a few moments, until he speaks again.

“Do you know what my favourite side about you is?”

“If you’re going to say my backside, I’mma slap you.”  

Harry snorts. “As if I’d dislike that. But no, I wasn’t going to say that, even though it’s definitely one of my fave things about you.”

“Tell me then,” Louis nudges Harry. The atmosphere feels like it changes, suddenly, from a vaguely flirty banter to something serious, something very important.

Harry turns to face Louis, wiggling his leg between his, wrapping himself around Louis.

“One of the things I love the most is how funny you are. You always just, make me laugh. I have a good time with you. Like, today, we did nothing but still it was like… Such a good time.” 

Harry stops speaking for long enough to kiss Louis, nuzzle their noses together. He doesn’t pull away, but carries on talking with his lips hovering against Louis’. They feel warm, soft.

“I also love how smart you are. You know so much and you’re so clever, like, I love it when you tell me things. And how kind you are, you’re just… You treat everyone so nicely. I’m such a sucker for how sweet you are.”

“That was three things, babe,” Louis says, always struggling a little with being complimented. “Which one of them was your favourite, then?”

Harry licks his lips, his tongue touching Louis’ lips at the same time. Harry closes his eyes and smiles, shaking his head in the smallest of movements. “None of them.”

“What?” Louis huffs incredulously. “How do you get to say three things and you’re still left with one more? You’re such a cheat, you always come up with special rules _for yourself._ ”

“Special people get special rules,” Harry says without thinking. “Now shush and let me tell you nice things.”

“Okay,” Louis sighs in mock annoyance. As awkward as he always feels listening to people tell nice things about him to his face, he does melt when it’s Harry doing the telling.

“Most of all, I love your bravery,” Harry starts. “And how strong you are. You sort of… carry so much, on your shoulders, for yourself, and for me, and for us, and for everyone. It… Leaves me in awe, watching how you never back down, how you just. Go for justice and what’s right, instead of what’s easy.” Harry stops to kiss Louis. “You’re my hero, Lou.”

“I try,” Louis says and it comes out a little choked.

“And you do it so well,” Harry smiles at him softly. “You are my brave hero, and everyone is going to agree one day, and your song is wonderful, and I’m just… Still can’t believe I got you. You’re the best person and somehow I got to keep you.”

Louis blinks a few times, thinking it’d be wholly un-heroic of him to start bawling like a baby – which is sort of what he wants to do – and is about to say something funny, something witty, when he feels Harry shut him up with pressing a finger on his lips.

“And don’t tell me you’re just with me because you can’t go for a pub lunch every Sunday, and it’s handy having me around cooking you Sunday roasts at home.”


End file.
